


in a world so sick with pain (this is the only thing that's real or true)

by kyasuu



Series: could i get a side of triple identity porn with that? [1]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Extremis, Faking Suicide, Gen, Identity Porn, Non-Chronological, Pre-Slash or Gen, Protective Clint Barton, Protective Everyone, Self-Esteem Issues, Torture, Whump, anyways i wrote this instead of sleeping, coffee shop AU, discussion of suicide, i also wrote this in like two days i didnt proofread it that much, if i didnt tag anything please let me know i'll tag it, kind of lmao, tbh lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-25
Updated: 2017-10-25
Packaged: 2019-01-22 22:40:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12492408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyasuu/pseuds/kyasuu
Summary: It's 2017 and Clint Barton is furious, and the reason why he's so pissed off can be traced back to 2012.It has everything to do with the nice guy running the cafe across the street.[aka: Identity Porn up the wazoo]





	in a world so sick with pain (this is the only thing that's real or true)

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote at least 6k of this thing in one sitting lmao and i didnt actually proofread it so. please take it.
> 
> if i didnt tag anything please let me know! i think i got everything but it's 2:18 AM it's a school night fhsuophuoh
> 
> title is from "Entertainment" by Rise Against

Clint hasn’t felt the urge to fucking shank a bitch in a while. It’s not a feeling he’s missed, but nevertheless he does, indeed, want to shoot someone in the eyeball. Someone who isn’t Loki, for once.

One quick survey of the room tells him he’s hardly the only one. Steve looks  _ this _ close to punching the television screen to pieces. From the way the screen is flickering, Thor’s emotions are getting dangerously out of control. Bruce looks rather green around the edges, and he doesn’t mean that as in Bruce looks like he wants to throw up. Bucky’s expression turns terrifyingly blank while a familiar, dangerous glint comes to Natasha’s eyes.

Of course, the reason why they’re so angry? Well, Clint will have to backtrack a few years (five, to be exact)--specifically 2012.

* * *

 

Fury pulls the Avengers together under strenuous circumstances. Clint’s honestly a bit surprised he’s still considered one, since the whole stint with Loki; Fury doesn’t give second chances, after all. It took a lot of convincing on Coulson’s part to get him to agree not to kill him.

But after Natasha knocks some sense back into his skull, Clint’s out there helping the rest of his (?) team, shooting aliens (god, that’s something he never thought he’d ever say, let alone do) and trying his best not to die.

Captain America is cool. Really. And he totally lives up to what Coulson had said--considering how well he knew the agent, Clint knows more about Cap than Cap probably does. Oops. And while Captain America is cool, Clint is more fond of Steve Rogers, the dorky, blushing man out of time.

The Hulk is goddamned  _ terrifying, _ like fuck, man. But Bruce Banner? He’s cool. He’s levelheaded and he almost seems timid, except when he gets comfortable. Then he starts snarking like there’s no tomorrow and his tongue is so sharp it gives Natasha a run for her money, and that’s pretty hard to do.

Thor, though, is like a golden retriever puppy, eager to please and kind and probably completely incapable of betrayal, considering the devotion he shows towards Loki. Except he has the most impenetrable poker face and Clint can never tell if he’s fucking with them or not, because Thor is one hell of a troll. Clint will gladly pass off the title of King of Trolling to Thor.

And then there’s Iron Man, a robot with enough attitude for ten people. Stark hadn’t held back when programming the snark into Iron Man’s AI, and Clint can totally appreciate that. He loves some good snark now and then, and it honestly does make banter with Iron Man easy and natural.

So yeah. That’s his team, along with Natasha, and he really isn’t expecting it to last. It’s been thrown together at the last minute, there’s no way it’ll survive. And then Coulson appears again because he’s not dead, and then Iron Man invites them to live in Stark Tower.

Or what’s left of it. Which is a surprisingly large amount, actually. Perks of having a huge building.

So eventually they move into Stark Tower, and Iron Man suggests they rename it Avengers Tower, except nobody agrees to it.

(“Out of respect for Mr. Stark,” Cap had said, shaking his head slightly and looking a little sad. Iron Man had gone quiet, and Clint had wondered if the AI was mourning his creator.)

Well--anyways, this isn’t quite the reason why Clint’s so worked up right now. It happens a few months later, because New York City is still rebuilding, and he’s helping a little, and while he may have helped save the world, he is but one man, and he cannot be in multiple places at once.

It’s after New York City’s on the mend that he discovers the cafe across the street from Stark Tower.

* * *

 

“You have an incoming call from Professor Xavier,” JARVIS announces quietly, and Clint looks up from his book. The rest of the Avengers in the room turn towards the ceiling even though they all know the AI isn’t in the ceiling. It’s a habit they’ve all had for the five years they’ve lived in Stark Tower.

_ “I am afraid I do not bear good news,” _ Professor X says with no precursor.  _ “We have a technopath on the loose; I suggest you be extra careful, and if you could, please capture him with minimum harm to him. But please do put your own personal safety above his. He has caused much trouble for us. I imagine he will cause your side issues as well.” _

“Great,” Iron Man grumbles, and Clint winces in sympathy. A technopath--that means Iron Man would be next to useless in a fight against him. “We’ll keep an eye out, Prof. Thanks for the heads up.”

_ “Best of luck, Avengers.” _ There’s a click to let them know that he’s hung up.

Iron Man lets out a sound suspiciously similar to a sigh, except Clint knows he’s just imitating it, since he doesn’t have lungs to breathe air with. “This sucks,” he grumbles, his tone irritated. Despite the fact that he’s just a robot with personality, Iron Man is more expressive than some people (coughs, Natasha, coughs, Coulson) Clint knows.

Stark had outdone himself with Iron Man and JARVIS; they’re both so  _ human _ Clint’s a bit scared. It’s like he’s created life--something only God is supposed to be able to do. And while Clint’s atheist, it’s still rather unnerving.

Clint wonders what the world would be like if Stark was still alive, if he hadn’t killed himself all those years ago.

* * *

 

It’s 2008, and Clint is cleaning his bow after a mission, perched on his bed in the small room SHIELD had given him years ago, when Coulson comes in without knocking. He’s freshly showered, too, if the slight dampness to his usually perfect hair is any indication.

“Have you seen the news?” Coulson inquires as he locks the door behind him, making himself at home in Clint’s kitchen. Eyes sharp as ever, Clint does not miss the way his hands are shaking, just a little.

“No,” Clint answers curtly and honestly, and does not bring it up. If Coulson doesn’t want to say, he won’t, and that’s something Clint’s learned a while ago. “What happened?”

“Stark killed himself,” he replies, and although his voice is calm and collected, the way his fingers clench the counter hard enough to turn his knuckles white gives him away. Clint freezes in the cleaning of his bow, shocked, before he masks it up by continuing.

“You sure it wasn’t foul play?”

“He left a suicide note, and his lawyer confirmed that he had come in to get his will updated prior to his death.”

And Clint had seen his latest (and his  _ last, _ now that he’s dead) press conference plastered all over the news. He didn’t know the guy personally (he  _ was _ a celebrity, after all), but Clint had seen how visibly tired Stark was in that conference. He’d looked like he was barely nourishing himself and about to keel over at any moment--and more importantly, he looked  _ spent _ with everything. The media. Life.

His last words to the press had been  _ “It’s been fun”, _ and Clint honestly is not surprised. Saddened, yes, since Stark  _ was _ a pretty funny guy and he was the guy everyone found irritating as all hell but couldn’t help but like, but unsurprised. It’s hitting Coulson harder than Clint had been expecting, but he supposes Coulson’s always been a softie, especially since Stark had been  _ his  _ assignment.

“Wonder what happened to him in Afghanistan.” Clint cleans his bow for an unnecessarily long period of time, and Coulson brings him a cup of tea. He doesn’t actually like tea, but he drinks it anyways because Coulson looks like he needs someone to drink tea with, and Natasha’s off on a mission.

“We won’t ever know.” Coulson raps one finger against his teacup steadily. “He left behind a robot; you’ve probably heard of him. Yinsen? The one he introduced a few days ago.”

Clint does remember. The robot had been pretty cool. “Yeah? What about him?”

“The press has taken to calling him Iron Man, now. Cleaned up the bastards stirring up trouble in Brooklyn; second time he’s appeared. First time was in Gulmira.”

“Huh.” Clint says nothing more and fills his cup again to do something with his hands.

Silence reigns over the room for a bit, and there’s nothing but the sound of tea drinking. They sit for a while.

Coulson breaks the silence with, “Fury’s got an idea.”

Clint snorts. “Since when does Fury  _ not _ have an idea?”

“It has something to do with Yinsen.”

“Huh.”

“He didn’t tell me much about it, but he’s calling it the Avengers Initiative.”

Clint raises an eyebrow, but does not say anything else. He doubts that when (because it’s a  _ when. _ Fury’s ideas always work out, which is why Clint hates and grudgingly respects the asshole) it comes to fruition he’ll have much to do with it.

* * *

 

Tony wordlessly passes a cup of steaming coffee to Clint as he stumbles tiredly towards the counter, a small, amused smile touching his lips. “You are a lifesaver,” Clint informs the cafe owner as soon as he’s downed half the cup, disregarding the heat.

“So I’ve been told,” Tony responds smoothly as he takes Clint’s ten dollar bill off the counter. He’s still wearing a thick sweater despite it being the middle of the goddamned summer. Clint’s asked him about it before, but Tony’s smile had turned somewhat pained and he’d changed the subject; Clint never asked again. “Long night ahead of you?”

“Yep.” Clint doesn’t elaborate; SHIELD ops are classified, after all. Tony doesn’t pry as he starts up another cup of coffee, pulling out milk and sugar and various other carbohydrates that are probably horrible for your health.

That’s why Clint  _ likes _ Antonio Carbonell; he’s a civilian, he’s mostly normal, and he treats anyone who comes into his cafe the same way, even if they’re Avengers. He just gives them their coffee and/or baked goods (which are to die for) and smiles at them. It’s a nice smile. Clint’s never going to admit it out loud, but he’s ridiculously glad he discovered this place last year, a few months after moving into Stark Tower.

He knows he’s not the only superhero (or hell, person in general) who likes Tony’s cafe and the guy himself; Clint’s seen a lot of X-Men drop by, and hell, even Deadpool (and sometimes with him is Cable) occasionally. Clint knows for certain all of his teammates (with the exception of Iron Man because, well, he doesn’t need to eat) visit often, and there’s the blind man who often sits in the corner of the cafe while Clint’s there. There’s also a few kids who come visit a lot, often asking Tony for homework help.

“Here you go,” Tony says, startling Clint out of his thoughts as he slides a fresh cup of coffee towards him. “Diabetes in a cup. And give this to Matt, would you?” Clint blinks at the bag of doughnut holes thrust in his face, but he takes them and the coffee. “Thanks.”

“I didn’t even say I would,” Clint huffs, tone jocular as he heads over to the blind man in question. He stops at the table but before he can clear his throat to let the guy (who’s running his finger along a page to read) know he’s there, Murdock turns towards him with eerie precision. Murdock’s like that; he’s a lawyer, he’s blind, and he’s creepily good at knowing where things are. Clint’s half-convinced he’s not really blind, but then again a lot of people don’t believe Clint when he says he’s deaf, either.

“Here you go,” he says, holding out the bag to Murdock, who takes it.

“Ah, thank you.” Murdock smiles at him before returning to whatever he’s reading; probably some lawyer business. Clint heads back to the counter, taking a sip of his sweet, sweet coffee.

“You should pay me if you’re going to use me as a waiter,” Clint comments.

“I pay you in extra whipped cream,” Tony shoots back, grinning slightly.

Suddenly, Clint’s phone beeps, and he checks it. SHIELD. Scowling, he deflates, tosses back the rest of his coffee, and sets the empty cup on the counter. “Well, not that I don’t enjoy your company, but I gotta run, skeleton.”

Tony just smirks. “Good luck, Hawkass, and see you later, alligator.”

Clint casually flips him the bird as he leaves the cafe.

* * *

 

Clint had  _ known _ something was wrong when he noticed the cafe was closed that day; he’s seen Tony work hours despite a broken arm, he’s seen him solve physics problems that Clint barely understands while running a 102 fever, so seeing him take a sick day and closing shop? It should have sent off alarm bells instantly.

He’d figured Tony had just finally gotten the good sense to stay at home for once and sleep it off.

But now, visceral rage is boiling deep in his gut, churning and roaring restlessly, because Clint is protective of his own, of his fucking  _ family, _ and Clint’s not sure when it happened, but Tony had become someone important to him.

The TV had flickered to life, and the first thing Clint had seen was Tony staring at the camera, staring at  _ Clint _ with hazy, unfocused eyes. There’s a bruise on his cheek, and a cut over his eye is bleeding sluggishly, and Clint can see him bound to a chair, ropes probably digging deep into his skin.

It makes Clint sick, because Tony’s a civilian, he shouldn’t be involved in this bullshit, he should never have been hurt so badly, and because of the Avengers no less.

_ “Avengers!” _ a cheerful voice singsongs from behind the chair. Clint can’t see his face, but he knows he’ll want to fucking punch it when he does.  _ “And Anthony! Say hello!” _ The bastard didn’t even have the decency to get his name right. A long finger runs along Tony’s bruised cheek in a mockery of a gentle caress before the speaker forcibly tilts his head towards the camera more. Tony hisses with pain, and Clint internally winces with sympathy when he sees one knuckle pressing into the bruise.

_ “One hell of a house party in here,” _ Tony mumbles, voice slurred, like he’s drunk. Or drugged, Clint figures.  _ “‘S only protocol that we’d have someone get beat up.” _

_ “Now,” _ the speaker hums, ignoring Tony.  _ “Of course, there’s a reason why I’ve contacted you and captured a civilian, aside from angering you.” _ The knuckle presses harder, and Clint can see Tony visibly gritting his teeth. There’s a sickening crunch from somewhere thankfully off screen, not that that appeases Clint’s utter  _ fury _ in the slightest, and Tony lets out a pathetic noise that sounds like a mix of a gasp and a whimper.

“That fucking piece of shit,” Clint hears Bruce snarl, and he has no time to marvel at something finally getting him to swear.

_ “You see, this is a trap,” _ the speaker continues casually, as if he isn’t hurting an innocent man.  _ “And you definitely know it. I’m not just contacting you, you know. But you’ll come for him, because you  _ care _ about this useless sack of shit for some reason.” _ The full body flinch Tony makes twists Clint’s heart in ways he didn’t know he could feel.

_ “You have twenty-four hours to come and get him! And after that, I’ll just kill him and mail his body in parts to you. Now, Anthony! Say goodbye.” _ The screen winks out.

The last of the video that Clint sees is Tony’s broken expression.

* * *

 

Steve brings one James Buchanan Barnes home in 2014.

Barnes is easily spooked, his gaze darts around the room constantly like he wants to run away, and he just reminds Clint an awful lot of an abused puppy. It’s fucking sad, that’s what it is.

He’s been living with them for a month when Clint takes him to the cafe.

“Tony!” he calls cheerfully, leading Barnes into the cafe and pretending he doesn’t notice how skittish the guy is. Tony, who’s smiling and chatting with a customer, spots Clint and nods once before turning back to the man, handing him a cup of coffee.

Clint and Barnes head up to the counter; thankfully, the cafe’s not too busy at this time of day. Coming outside is stressful enough for poor Barnes. Tony tilts his head in Clint and Barnes’s direction, smiling warmly at Barnes. “And is this your boyfriend, Hawkass?”

Clint scrunches up his nose, about to answer, when Barnes retorts, “If he was, I’d drop him for you in a heartbeat, sweetheart.”

Tony’s mouth falls open, not that Clint can blame him at all, because he’s pretty sure he’s staring at Barnes the same way. It takes him a few moments, but Tony eventually recovers, and he doubles over laughing.

“Oh my  _ god, _ ” he wheezes, and Clint can’t help it, he breaks down laughing too. Barnes looks delighted, and that’s a good look on him. “I have no words.”

“I feel like I should be offended,” Clint admits, grinning ear to ear as Barnes’s flirty expression melts into something more genuine and soft. “But hey, man, Tony’s a catch too.”

“Oh, stop it, you.” Tony flaps a hand in Clint’s general direction. “My ego will inflate to the size of the earth.”

“ _ What _ ego,” Clint mutters. Louder, he turns to Barnes and says, “I’m not gonna lie, I didn’t expect that at all. Didn’t think you had it in you, to be honest.”

Barnes smiles shyly, a complete one-eighty from his previous demeanor. “Well, it’s been awhile since I last got the chance to flirt.” If by “awhile” he means  _ seventy fucking years, _ yeah, Clint totally gets it. Awhile. “So I thought I’d, um, try it.”

“You know what else you should try?” Tony asks. At Barnes’s suspicious look, Tony laughs openly. “No, it’s not an innuendo. I’m just saying, the menu’s up there. You having the usual, Hawkass?”

“Yep,” Clint confirms as Barnes gives Tony his order. He watches as Tony limps towards the coffee machine, humming under his breath.

“Did something happen to your leg?” Barnes inquires softly, sounding concerned. Clint totally approves--everyone needs to worry about this idiot civilian more, because he gets injured a worrying amount.

Tony freezes and laughs awkwardly; he’s never been good with concern for him, and Clint would find it adorable if it weren’t for the fact that it’s so fucking  _ sad. _ “Oh, um. Yeah.” He smiles slightly. “I sprained my ankle, actually, not my leg, so don’t worry too much about it. You know how when you’re walking on uneven ground, and you suddenly, uh, do that weird thing where your foot bends inward? That.”

Clint will die before he admits it, but he’s done it a lot on SHIELD ops. It’s embarrassing as fuck, but Coulson will always mercilessly fill in the exact cause of injury.

“Oh,” Barnes says, and just settles for watching Tony work his magic on his coffee.

Clint figures the only reason why Tony makes coffee so well is because he used to drink it all the time and pull all-nighters, though he doubts it’s  _ used to, _ considering the panda eyes he sports often.

Tony hands the two of them their coffee, and Barnes tries to give him a five.

“Oh, uh.” Tony wrings his hands anxiously. “I don’t like being handed things. Could you. Um.” He laughs nervously, and doesn’t look Barnes in the eye. From Clint’s perspective, he can see the surprise in Barnes’s eyes melt into sympathy.

“Okay.” Barnes’s voice is neutral as ever and he sets the bill on the counter along with Clint’s.

It’s something Clint’s never gotten, but he’s always figured was none of his business. Considering Tony’s reaction to it, Clint’s guessed it’s trauma, so he definitely has no business sticking his nose in that. They might be friends, and Clint may or may not be freakishly protective of the guy (even if he could definitely hold his own), but he knows where the line is, and he knows better than to cross it.

Tony looks embarrassed and takes the money. “Thanks.”

Barnes inclines his head slightly and takes a sip of the coffee. And then his eyes widen, and he turns to Tony. “What the fuck did you put in this,” he demands.

Tony positively  _ squeaks _ in surprise. “Nothing funny, I  _ swear, _ ” he promises, looking panicked. “Did it go bad or something? I’m sorry, I’ll--”

Barnes holds the cup out of Tony’s reach protectively. “Oh, god,  _ no, _ ” he says. “I’m asking because what the fuck, it tastes  _ heavenly.” _

Clint smiles into his cup as Tony flushes to high heaven. “Thanks,” he replies, voice an octave higher than usual.

As he watches Barnes and Tony interact, Clint regrets not bringing Barnes here earlier, because he’s getting excited over  _ coffee _ of all things. How adorable.

And he may or may not be getting attached to Steve’s not-boyfriend now, because anyone who likes Tony is good in Clint’s book.

* * *

 

JARVIS quickly finds the place Tony’s being held and sends the information out to the X-Men; they might be able to help out.

“Anyone know where Iron Man is?” Steve asks tersely. Nobody speaks up except JARVIS.

“Yes, Captain Rogers. His location currently cannot be disclosed, and he will be unavailable.” JARVIS sounds displeased.

Natasha curses in about four different languages. “The  _ worst _ timing,” she growls as they head out towards the Quinjet. She, along with the rest of the Avengers, stop when they see a masked man standing there waiting for them.

“Daredevil,” she acknowledges calmly. “What are you here for?”

“I’m helping you out,” he answers, tone even. “Those bastards have something of mine.”

“Tony?” Clint guesses, tone grim.

Daredevil cocks his head to the side briefly before nodding in confirmation. “I heard everything down there. We really don’t have time to argue about this.”

That, at least, everyone could agree on, and Clint hops into the pilot’s seat, going as fast as possible as soon as everyone’s in and turning on stealth mode. Of all places, they’d picked a fucking boat. Joy.

Clint stops the Quinjet above the boat, seeing hundreds of people milling about and towing weaponry around. “We’ve arrived,” he says grimly, grabbing the nearest parachute. “Let’s get our favorite computer science major coffee maker back.”

“Let’s give them hell.” Daredevil doesn’t wait for a response and jumps out, the chute billowing out behind him.

Clint exchanges a glance with the rest of his team. “Avengers Assemble?” he asks, and he doesn’t wait for a response, jumping out right after Daredevil, his bow and quiver ready, because goddammit if he lets these fucking pieces of shit take Tony.

A fearsome roar answers his question, and Clint watches with satisfaction as the Hulk lands on board, ready to tear anyone apart. He touches down on one of the highest vantage points of the area, his quiver full, knives ready, and bow drawn.

He picks off the bastards going for his teammates, sharp eyes scanning for where Tony might be kept, and then--

_ “Heroes! I see you have arrived to my party!” _ The speaker is undeniably the same bastard who’d sent that video. Clint instantly heads towards the voice, footsteps as silent as possible as he hops precariously from platform to platform and looking around cautiously. Eventually he finds the bastard, standing on the top of a ruined building.

Clint’s knuckles are itching to punch the bastard, because he sees him carrying Tony under one arm like a ragdoll. But he has to wonder how he’s doing it, because he seems fairly scrawny. Appearances, of course, can be deceiving, but…

His skin is awfully orange, and he’s smoking. Quite literally smoking.

_ “Have you heard of Extremis?” _ the technopath continues as if he isn’t surrounded by superheroes.  _ “No… I think you haven’t. Nearly thirty years ago, Tony Stark helped someone perfect their design… and what you see here in me is the result.” _ He pats Tony on the head condescendingly. Clint feels a snarl in his throat.  _ “Well, I’m sure Anthony doesn’t remember it anymore. He  _ is _ quite forgetful. _

_ “Well… I suppose I’ll be sitting up here and watching you lot fight and go out in a blaze of glory.” _

Clint notches an arrow and points it at the bastard who’d dared to lay a hand on Tony, but then he finds himself thrown into a wall with superhuman strength. Cursing loudly, he turns towards his attacker, a woman with thick brown hair and a scar on one cheek. She smiles viciously at him.

He snatches up his bow and pulls an arrow from his quiver, letting it fly; it sinks into her shoulder, but she doesn’t even flinch, simply pulling it out and tossing it to the side. Clint swears as she glows a bright reddish orange, watching as the injury heals before his eyes.

“Well, you’re smoking hot,” Clint forces out, gritting his teeth as he dodges a piece of debris she tosses at him.

“I don’t need you to tell me that, archer.” She lunges, teeth bared, and Clint drops, rolling behind her and picking an ice arrow (courtesy of Iron Man) and shooting her in the back with it. Frost instantly spreads over her skin and ice sprouts from it, freezing her into a block of ice. Of course, Clint figures she could just thaw herself out.

As he’d predicted, the ice starts to form cracks and Clint quickly puts some distance between himself and the smoking lady. Except… Clint’s eyes widen in horror as he realizes she’s burning far too bright, and that cannot be good. Immediately, he shoots a grappling hook at the farthest building it can reach, and a moment later and he would’ve been toast--literally.

He feels the heat lick at his back as he makes his narrow escape, staring at the place she’d been in--once. Now there’s nothing of her left. Horror crawls up his throat.

Clint swivels around when he hears several thuds behind him, arrows at the ready. Three other of those crazy exploding healing people (Extremis, Clint realizes) have landed in his area, and Clint is definitely not ready to deal with this.

He risks a glance up at the platform where the technopath and Tony are and considers his options. Thunder roars in the distance and the hairs on the back of Clint’s neck stand up when he hears the sizzle of lightning; Thor had probably just incinerated a few Extremis bastards.

And because of the fucking technopath, their comms are down, so he can’t even make sure if they’re okay.

Growling under his breath, Clint shoots his second grappling hook and flips the bastards approaching him as he does, making it to the platform where the technopath is, Tony a prone form on the ground at his feet.

“Hawkeye,” the technopath muses. “Why do you care for this piece of human garbage so much, anyways?” He mercilessly kicks the body on the ground, sending Tony rolling over onto his side with a feeble groan.

“If there’s a ‘piece of human garbage’ here between the three of us, it’s you,” Clint snarls, arrow at the ready, but he’s not sure he can take this bastard. He’d used up the ice arrow, which had been a prototype, and he doesn’t want to risk an explosive arrow so close to Tony.

“Well, I suppose--” the technopath begins, but Clint never learns what he supposed because suddenly Tony throws himself onto the technopath forcibly, sending him careening over the edge--with Tony in tow.

_ “Tony!” _ Clint shouts, voice breaking as he heads towards the edge, Tony quickly falling. There’s no way Clint could possibly jump down and save him, and everyone else is clearly busy with the Extremis freaks, if the explosions and screaming is any indication.

“The cavalry has arrived,” announces JARVIS in the comm, startling Clint--when had the comm system been fixed? “The House Party Protocol is now in full effect.”

Iron Man, familiar and gleaming in the light, swoops down below Clint, and a relief floods him from head to toe--Tony. Tony’s not dead. He’s not dead. He’ll be okay.

Then he looks up into the sky and he sees at least twenty Iron Mans (Iron Men?) in the sky, diving in to take on part of the burden. Clint barks out a laugh. “Holy shit,” he whispers.

“Hey, not too shabby, eh?” Iron Man asks, tone amused as he flies past Clint, and before Clint can ask where Tony is, he’s already moved on, knocking Extremis user after Extremis user down.

Clint jumps off, making his way down to the ground level where he figures Steve, Bucky, and Natasha might need help, relief being replaced by determination and sheer adrenaline. He shoots left and right, not missing a single shot.

“Behind you!” shouts Steve, and Clint ducks, letting whoever had tried to attack him sail way over him, giving their brief trip through the air a boost by smacking them with his bow.

“Guess the technopath bastard couldn’t control our comms and fight at the same time,” Clint comments, feeling Natasha shift behind him.

“Correction, Hawkeye,” JARVIS comments. “He is not a mutant nor a technopath. He has merely created the illusion of being both. He had hired people to hack into our comms, and although they were a nuisance to remove, they were not permanent, especially considering my prowess in that particular area. Extremis is artificial and not created from DNA.”

There’s a loud crash and sizzle, and Clint turns, immediately spotting the not-technopath, healing from his meeting with the ground. Before Clint can do anything, Iron Man attempts to flatten the bastard, but he manages to scramble out of the way just in time.

“Aldrich Killian, you bastard,” Iron Man hisses. “What was the meaning of this?”

“Revenge,” Killian answers, grinning madly. “On  _ you.” _ Before Iron Man can respond, Killian’s arm turns a bright, searing orange and he moves to slice Iron Man in half.

“Eject!” Iron Man yells right as Killian’s arm slices cleanly through it.

“Iron Man!” Steve shouts, voice wavering with fear, except--

“ _ Tony?!” _ Clint exclaims, feeling off balance as he sees one of his closest friends, a fucking  _ civilian, _ slide between Killian’s legs and narrowly avoid death, the two halves of the Iron Man  _ armor _ falling to the ground.

“JARVIS, Mark 42,” Tony growls into the comm, and without the voice filter, Clint feels frozen. Iron Man. Robot. AI. Antonio “Tony” Carbonell. Civilian. Cafe owner.

Anthony Edward Stark. Tony Stark.

Another armor (because holy shit, those aren’t robots, those are suits of armor, what the fuck) plummets towards the ground, and Killian snarls, lunging at Tony again, and that’s all Clint needs to snap out of it, shooting an arrow at Killian. It buries itself in his side, and he stumbles. That’s all Tony needs, because the suit lands right next to him, and he points straight at Killian.

Killian’s eyes go wide. “What are--” he sputters as the armor wraps itself around him, and no matter how hard he struggles, no matter how hot he burns, the metal does not give because Tony Stark does not make mistakes.

Tony grins, but it’s not the warm one Clint’s used to. It’s sharp, it’s cold, it’s calculating, and it’s all Tony motherfucking  _ Stark, _ the corporate shark, Iron Man, and the man who escaped Afghanistan and SHIELD and god knows who else. It gives Clint chills.

“Blow it up, JARVIS,” he says.

Above them, Clint hears a tremendous explosion, ringing out through the air, but he can’t bring himself to look away from Tony Carbonell. From Tony Stark. From Iron Man.

They’re the same person.

Then Tony sways dangerously, leaning heavily on one leg, and Clint then notices the broken foot. It must’ve been what Killian had crushed in the video. He swallows down the bile, and approaches Tony cautiously.

“Sorry,” Tony slurs, sounding tired. “Could you save… the… the l-ecture for l-later… ‘M gon’ pass out.”

That’s all the warning Clint gets before Tony pitches forward, and he runs the rest of the distance, catching him before he can hit the ground. He shifts Tony very carefully in his hold, trying to avoid touching any injuries.

“Can I just be the first to say that that was completely unexpected?” Bucky announces, breaking the awkward silence as he approaches Tony, brows knitted together with nothing but concern.

“He’s Tony Stark,” Natasha says, stating what  _ now _ is the obvious.

“Well, at the moment he’s in need of medical help.” Steve steps forward to take Tony’s weight, but Clint doesn’t want to let go. He doesn’t want to let go of this stupid, brave, selfless, self-deprecating man. But Steve’s right; he’s not going to survive unless they got him some medical help.

Steve carefully picks him up like he’s made of glass and they make their way through the battlefield on high alert, but it seems like the battle’s mostly died down. Clint spots them all converging at the edge of the boat, and he takes a look at the damage they’ve left behind; he guesses a good thing about fighting on a boat is that they don’t really, yanno, destroy much on land.

“Is he okay?” War Machine demands, marching up to them. War Machine--Colonel James Rhodes. He doesn’t seem to care much about keeping up appearances now, because he quickly leaves the armor, tenderly touching Tony’s unbruised cheek.

“He’ll be okay, hopefully, if we get him treatment,” Natasha says curtly, dipping her head slightly.

Rhodes regards them briefly. “You know, then.” It’s not a question, and it’s neutral, betraying nothing of what Rhodes thinks.

“Yeah,” Clint admits, hanging back as Steve heads to the group, looking for someone to fix Tony up temporarily. “We do. It came as… a surprise.”

Rhodes snorts. “Oh believe me, it came as a surprise to Pepper and me too.” He rubs the bridge of his nose, sighing deeply. “Do you know how fucking  _ concerned _ I was? He didn’t tell us what he was planning until he was about to execute the first step of the plan.”

“Plan?”

“He was planning to fake a suicide,” Rhodes answers. “Which you already know. But he was originally going to do it alone, without telling me or Pepper. God, I thought he was legitimately at risk--and I think he was, for a time.”

Clint is quiet for a long moment. “I feel like I should be mad at him for hiding this from us for five years,” he admits, “but I’m not. I can see why he might do it.” God, the self-deprecating jokes Tony cracks that  _ he _ thinks are funny, but really fucking aren’t speaks volumes.

“You don’t have to be mad at him, but I wouldn’t blame you for it.” Rhodes sighs, sounding exhausted. “But really, if the rest of your team is, and they ostracized him or something, I think it’d break him.”

“I think they’d be  _ mad _ but not to that extent.” Clint couldn’t see it--leaving Tony behind, he means. Because Tony is an integral part of all of their lives, and life without him? He can’t imagine it, and he doesn’t want to. It sounds like hell.

Rhodes doesn’t say anything else, so Clint doesn’t either. Clint thinks that maybe Rhodes heard what Clint didn’t say out loud.

* * *

 

“I’m trying to be mad,” Bruce admits. “But I can’t. Not at him. God, could you imagine? He’d believe he deserves so much worse, and he’ll walk around like a kicked puppy, and then we’ll never see him again.”

Clint thinks that’s a fairly accurate summary of how Tony would react. He takes another glance at Tony, asleep in a hospital bed. He looks smaller than usual, swathed in white sheets, a faint blue glow in his chest. Clint tries his best to ignore the black scars on his chest surrounding the arc reactor--what Iron Man had called it.

“I must admit,” Thor begins, “I have known from the beginning. I assume my brother has as well.”

“What,” Clint says flatly.

Thor shrugs. “I have lived quite a bit longer than you, Clint,” he reminds him, sounding a touch amused. “It is not difficult for me to know the difference between a human and one that is not. Our friend Tony is certainly brilliant, but he is ultimately ruled by emotion rather than reason, much like most humans are.”

“And how did you tell the difference between him and JARVIS?” Steve asks curiously.

“JARVIS has no physical form,” Thor answers promptly. “However, I would still say that JARVIS is a person. He may not be created in conventional ways, but he is still ultimately a thinking, learning, and sentient being. How Tony had accomplished such a feat is honestly beyond me, but I commend him for it.”

The room falls silent, and Clint listens to the steady  _ beep _ of the heart monitor, of the way the arc reactor buried deep into Tony’s chest constantly puts out blue light, wondering what it does, why it’s in his body. Wonders a bit about what happened in Afghanistan.

Mostly, he just wonders about how they’ll move forward from here. Nothing’s changed, except everyone  _ knows. _

Well, Clint supposes they can cross that bridge when they get to it, and he tangles his fingers in Tony’s still but warm, worn ones.

**Author's Note:**

> if people are interested i could?? idk?? write more for this verse?? i rather like it fsdaogopgh
> 
> come yell at me on tumblr! i'm http://kyasuu.tumblr.com
> 
> Edit: Added a sequel


End file.
